by Melissa Blue
She tried to keep a straight face, but the poker face was cracking under the need to laugh. “What's for dinner?”
“Homemade pesto, tortellini, Italian sausages and garlic bread. A great meal that won't pass your lips unless you tell me about your new client.”
He didn't hold a grudge but she'd taught him the hardcore rules of negotiation. Sophie sighed. “My client details are confidential...”
Deadpan expression from Cal.
She laughed and gave up since she also taught him how to be relentless. “He's an astrophysicist.”
He nodded, his brows and chin up, likely impressed with the simple fact. “So he's smart.”
“He thinks so,” she muttered.
Cal uncrossed his arms, shoved his hands in his pockets and spread his legs as though claiming the space around him. She frowned at the territorial stance. They'd long since gotten past wanting to be bedmates so why puff up his chest? Then again, he was very protective of her.
“What?”
“What else?” he demanded.
Of course he couldn't let this go. “Not a people person. At all. And I managed to get him to agree to behave by watching a TV show.”
Lines creased his forehead. She knew that face, knew he'd keep pushing. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“You're not watching a single episode, are you?”
Not even if hell froze over. “He's not my only client. I have to work. And this is why Wikipedia exists. I'll look up every episode and pretend I've watched them. That was the deal. I watch like a week's worth of TV. I don't have the time.”
He made a disapproving humming noise and strolled into the kitchen.
She frowned at his back. “I'm getting a sense you're annoyed with me for some reason.”
Instead of answering, he offered her a plate piled high with carbs that would knock her out in thirty minutes or less if she ate it without breathing. She even considered doing that. Her boss hadn't just dropped off Wade's file, but an aging celebrity and a housewife who'd written a steamy romance that was getting some pretty good buzz. Nine o'clock had come and gone, but she had at least four more hours of work left in her day.
She took her plate to the table. As always he'd prepped for dinner with cloth napkins and every bit of silverware. He was all about presentation. She appreciated the little details.
Even better, every bite was delicious, no surprise. The silence while they ate was new though. She glanced at him across the table. Apparently, his form of sustenance was glaring at her while sitting in a belligerent pose.
Sophie put down her fork, a tremble in her hand. She knew the question. Could see it in his brown eyes. Ignoring the curiosity and suspicion wouldn't make the tension in the silence go away.
“Cal, what is it?”
He dropped his hands back to the table. “Whenever you bitch about a client, you start with the facts. Height, weight, eye color, occupation—like you're a cop describing a perp. You only told me his occupation.” His hesitation held weight. “And he's a client.”
She closed her eyes at those last four words. Despite their history, they lived together because when her world had crumbled to nothing, he'd showed up on her doorstep. He'd helped her rebuild, grow back her skin so it was Teflon. He'd seen her bared right down to her soul. He was the one man she couldn't bluff or lie to.
The food she'd eaten sloshed around in her stomach. She picked up the fork again, determined to remain composed and to ignore the nausea. Talking about Wade would make him too real, instead of a problem she had to handle. Her mind would go over the stark flash of fear she'd seen in his eyes when she'd told him he could be Bill Nye.
Why would something like that scare him? What Nye did for science and still did was impressive, groundbreaking and for many, he'd given them a sense of a purpose.
But that would invite Wade into her thoughts—not as a client—and she'd never be able to shake him once she let him make a home there.
“There's nothing there, Cal,” she lied. “You're seeing boogeymen.”
He pushed his plate away. “You went to a Celine Dion concert for a client. The only song you ever liked of hers was from the Beauty and Beast soundtrack. You complained for a month and still do when you get riled up. You've gone bungee jumping. Done basic training. Ever since that affair, you stopped at nothing to prove you have what it takes.” Another heavy pause. “But a TV show is drawing the line?”
Elephants envied Cal's memory. It was why she didn't play poker with him. The important thing at the moment was to deflect until cornered. “I have to draw it at some point. My clients can't say 'jump' and I answer with 'how high?'.”
“I agree, but you should have done that two years ago. What makes this client's demand the last straw?”
Anger rose from her chest and closed an ice-cold hand around her throat. Sophie wanted to lash back. It was only fair to bring up the time he'd practically stalked his ex on social media. One of his friends would like Roxie's status, and he'd spiral between “fuck her” and “I miss her so damn much.”
He still carried around those scars. Roxie had ended things because Cal was too effeminate for her liking. A chef at one of the top restaurants in town, Cal fed and flirted with everything that had a pulse. He also didn't have a single shame for loving apple martinis because of the flavor. He was man enough to scratch his junk in public, talk sports, fix shit and beat his chest with the best of them. And all that led to him having a Prince effect—both women and men seemed to be attracted to him.
But they lived together and the walls were so very thin. Cal enjoyed women, and they appreciated the hell out of him. So, yeah, the Prince effect, which was a problem with Roxie, and Roxie was someone Cal had thought he could marry. He understood having to grow new skin so it could be thicker, tougher.
They shared that, and he knew her. Refusing Wade's simple offer meant—she didn't want to examine the potential complications. The problem would fade. She just had to get Wade to be himself and what little attraction she had for him would die a slow damn death.
“A willing client gets the best press,” Sophie said in her defense.
“So what's the problem?”
Giving in to Wade's demands shouldn't put her back up. She had two weeks to get him ready to meet the press. And it wasn't like she didn't binge-watch TV shows. She'd gorged on Scandal and had been three seasons behind. At the time one of her starlettes had “accidentally” leaked a sex tape.
But letting Wade win when he likely always came out on top, seemed to do the world a disservice. Someone, anyone needed to one-up that handsome, smart bastard.
“Every single cell in my body rejects the thought of doing anything he wants.”
Whenever his gaze had heated, she known, felt that he wanted her in his bed. His mouth on her in ways that were—she shook her head. Don't think about his mouth. His full, kissable lips.
“I refuse,” she grumbled.
Cal asked. “Which show?”
“Doctor Who.”
Cal picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth but remained silent.
“What is it?” she pushed.
“Just know that I'm here for you. I think the next few weeks are going to be tough.”
She laughed at the melodrama. “Why do you say that?”
“Because your instinct is right. This client is different. He's pegged you.”
She blinked at that. “Yes, he's different, but what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“You don't give up. You're too stubborn. So you're going to suffer through the show.”
She pulled back and studied his face. “What is Doctor Who?”
Cal laughed, but in a poor-sweet-baby way. “Something that's going to make you stabby. I'm calling it a night.”
“This time I'm not giving in. I'm not going to say yes to anything when it comes to Wade.”
He threw his napkin over the remnants on his plate. Since their deal was he c
ooked and she cleaned, she didn't fuss at that.
But in case she changed her mind... “Just how bad is it, Cal?”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Remember Aimee?”
“The Irish girl you broke up with a few months ago?” Sophie laughed, knowing where the punchline landed.
“She loved Doctor Who.” He grinned at her. “I'm here for you. Remember that, but I'm not watching that fucking show again.”
Cal dropped a kiss on her forehead, for a second he lingered, then sighed, making his way to his room.
She cleaned up the kitchen, convinced nothing could be that bad, but if it was she always had Wikipedia. Resolute, she settled into the living room and signed into her Googlecast to get started on the binge-watch.
*****
Wade climbed the steps to his brother's house. No—his brother's home. Grady had only lived in it for a little over a year, but the two-story abode felt more like home than the suburban forest they'd grown up in.
Then again, their parents weren't exactly hearth—they never understood him or wanted to. Even when Wade was a kid he received more parental concern from teachers and professors. Did you get enough sleep for the test? Have you eaten breakfast? It's the most important meal, especially for pop quizzes.
In this white house with black shutters, he was welcomed. Wade knew he could lose his mind and somehow find his way back to it in his brother's home. He didn't have to be the smartest or most well-behaved. For the first time that day he inhaled deeply and his chest didn't squeeze tight in resistance to the action.
The wind fluttered a piece of paper stuck to the door. He put a hand against the sheet to read the words.
Go around the back to the porch.
Strange, but that likely meant his brother's girlfriend had invaded the hallowed halls. It was pushing eight at night and he only wanted to clear his head with a video game. But this was Grady, he wouldn't ask unless he considered the request important.
Wade rounded to the back yard and found Grady and Oliver relaxing on the porch seats. His brother had one hand propped behind his head, his black-rimmed glasses rested at the end of his nose. Though people said they looked alike, Wade couldn't see the resemblance. They both had sandy brown hair, blue eyes, but Grady was shorter...nicer.
Oliver wore his favorite Nightwing shirt that had long since faded to gray, and dusty black Converse. His smile was genuine when he saw Wade. His blond hair and lashes appeared golden in the porch light. Both men looked relaxed on the short bench that sat across from the barbecue pit.
“Hey,” Oliver said, in his deep timbre.
Wade glanced at the closed glass door. Usually Grady would leave the screen in place. “Why are you guys out here?” he asked instead of a greeting.
Grady offered him a beer. “Eva has food poisoning. Finally went to sleep and I don't want to wake her. We all know how loud we can get.”
Wade accepted the beer with a muttered thanks. His brother raised his brows and asked, “No joke questioning my manhood?”
He'd lost the taste to fight for the day after Sophie railroaded him. Wade rolled his shoulders. “Eva's sick.”
Oliver and Grady glanced at each other, but it was his brother who said, “What's wrong?” And then he eyed the beer.
With Wade's medication he could only occasionally imbibe. He should have avoided it all together if he were edging toward a cliff.
He wasn't.
Wade laughed and settled on the porch rail. “I show concern for your girlfriend and that throws up a red flag for an episode?”
Grady rested his elbows on his thighs, his gaze searching. “Any drastic change to your personality...” His brother shook his head, not willing to finish the joke. “You tolerate her.”
“I tolerate you.”
Oliver stretched his legs out and propped them on the low table. “Before you two get started, I have a thing on Saturday. I want you guys to come.”
Grady tilted his head in their friend's direction but his stare remained on Wade like he was trying to suss out the problem with a look. “What thing?”
Oliver's face flushed but he puffed up his chest. “An award ceremony.”
His friend illustrated comics, loads of them and they made damn good money. A spurt of pride filled his chest and warmed him. Oliver had been an artist since they were kids, he rarely talked about the milestones unless they were big. His first comic. The first time one of the comics he'd drawn hit a list. Much more and now this.
“Awww, and you want us there,” Wade said in a teasing tone. “What's the award for?”
“Shut up,” Oliver said on a laugh. “My last comic. It's getting a lot of buzz. I actually have some writing credits in that.”
He grinned because that meant it was doing really well. “Congrats. I'll be there with bells and whistles,” Wade promised.
Oliver and Grady shared another glance. He could almost read the quiet exchange. Something's wrong. We need to keep an eye on him, and maybe drop him off at his next therapy session to ensure he's going.
He shook off the annoyance and breathed for a second or two. He'd given them the power to crawl up his ass as needed. Didn't mean it was always comfortable to have his every word or action studied for signs.
Finally he said, “Dear brother, if you keep looking at Pretty Blond Boy like that, Eva might start to worry.”
Grady snorted and opened his mouth to reply. Wade's phone rang. An unknown number since it didn't have a specific ring. It could only be one person. Though he was slightly surprised Sophie hadn't stolen his phone and programmed a unique tone to announce her interruption into his everyday life.
He answered. “I'm assuming this is your update.”
“It is, Dr. Addison. I really enjoyed the first two episodes.”
She may have read his file, but clearly she didn't get to the fine print. He'd spent most of his life people-watching. He knew a lie when he heard it. “'Moisturize me.'”
“Excuse me?” Her voice held a shade of offense.
Yeah. She hadn't watched jack shit. “Sorry. Was talking to my brother. I'm guessing you have plans for me tomorrow since you're holding up your end of the deal.”
“If you're up to it.” Her clipped tone could barely contain the triumph. She believed she'd pulled the wool over his eyes. “I can wait the two weeks as we agreed.”
While other kids his age had learned to lie to their peers, Wade had honed his bullshitting skills on adults. Yes, he'd eaten bacon, pancakes and eggs for breakfast in case there was a pop quiz. Oh, yeah, his parents were bursting with pride at all his achievements at such a young age.
He'd learned to pretend he was okay, act like he didn't care he was always an outsider.
Now...convince the publicist who made his dick harder than granite that he believed her lies?
He could do that in his sleep.
“How generous,” he said. “I'll be ready for you tomorrow.”
By then he could come up with the perfect thing to do or say to make her walk away. Wade now knew she'd lie to get what she wanted. She didn't think much of his intelligence. Despite all her successes over the years, Sophie Lake still had something to prove to herself. He smiled at the last insight.
“Night, Sophie.” There was a sincere warmth in his voice, and that probably made him twisted in all the wrong ways.
What sounded like surprise colored her tone. “Good night, Dr. Addison.”
Wade didn't have to look up to know two pairs of eyes were fixed on him. He waited to see who would ask the question.
Oliver went first. “Sophie?”
“Someone who will regret lying to me.” He dropped his phone back into his pocket. “So we're sitting out here all night?”
Grady pointed to the ice chest. “Likely. I also brought food.”
His brother's practically live-in girlfriend was throwing up from something they'd eaten and yet his brother was fine. “If it's food poisoning, why aren't you sick? Aren't you guys joined
at the hip?”
Grady's hand paused in mid-air. “We spend time away from each other.”
But that didn't answer the question. Grady worked as an instructor at Cal State. Eva still had a semester or two to go as a student. Wade knew they ate lunch together every day, came home and ate together...every day. Traded saliva every other minute. Stood to reason Grady would also be sick. Wade may have had his beef with Eva a time or two, but the woman was sturdy. She likely wouldn't have a puking fit from a too greasy burger. She ate campus food for God sake's. If that didn't give you a lead stomach, he didn't know what would.
Wade squinted at his brother, wondering if Grady really couldn't put two and two together. “I worry about you.”
“Me?” Grady chuckled. A fair reaction. His brother was the “normal” one. “I'm not the one getting mysterious phone calls and saying 'moisturize me.'”
That did sound dirty out of context. “I just live a richer life.”
“I should go check on her.” Grady frowned at the house.
Wade swallowed the knee-jerk comment and had to finish off the rest of his beer to keep it from spilling out. His brother's shoulders were high and tight enough without the extra prodding. Grady broke after another five seconds and stood.
So fucking whipped.
Oliver dug into the ice chest then pulled out two more beers after Grady disappeared into the house. “So are you going to tell me the truth?”
“What truth?”
“About Sophie.”
The truth about her was that despite how much he wanted her out of his life, he'd likely dream about her naked and wet and in his bed. He could be nice and charming when motivated. The way his scalp tingled when she smiled was the best kind of incentive, but she had lied. They were opponents for the simple fact she wanted to parade him around like an oddity. That last was unforgivable. He could talk to Oliver about everything, lay the situation out. His friend made confessing easy and usually had pretty decent advice after you'd spilled your guts.
But where the fuck to start? Over a year before, he spent some time not sleeping. That led to his temper being short. His paranoia high. Losing track of time. Not being able to filter everything he said, even the mean shit. Especially the cruel shit. Fucking anything with a pair of tits. Then one day when he was practically mainlining coffee, and sounding like a chipmunk speaking at the speed of light, he pushed Victor into a fight. One so ugly and violent, Oliver and Porter had to hold Victor back and Grady had to sit on top of Wade. All the while he kept egging Victor on.
